


remember your virtues

by lokideadinside



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, I'm Going to Hell, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Open Relationships, Other, Overdosing, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Scars, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, There's A Clown in This, half angst half fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:36:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokideadinside/pseuds/lokideadinside
Summary: It was a number he didn’t know with an area code from Maine. Huh?The only people he knew with Maine area codes were his aunts and uncles, but he had their numbers saved. Plus he brought a house phone for clients or other business calls at home, he shouldn’t be getting unknown numbers calling him like this. He answers the phone anyways, “Stanley Blum-Uris speaking.”And just like that, Stan’s life spiraled backwards 27 years with one phone call from Maine.-or, ya know, the another hot take on 'stan takes a bath' fix it.
Relationships: Mike Hanlon/Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Kudos: 12





	remember your virtues

**Author's Note:**

> okay, get ready because this is a deep and dark topic. this is based off a bunch of what ifs i had about the scene in question. the scene, i'll be honest with you, i don't remember a whole lot about it because i last read that in 9th grade and i'm 22 so. i do remember a bunch of my what ifs from back then and i decided to bring them to light now. 
> 
> please note that the tags are serious and you should take them that way. thank you.
> 
> also characters and the idea behind the scene itself are sking's work. i just decide i didn't like canon and to make my own. i hope you enjoy a sad then happy story of how a guy named stan took a bath.
> 
> title came from song "achilles come down" by gang of youths.
> 
> there's a two surprises in this. let me know what you think of them. plus a bill hader easter egg!
> 
> a special thanks for annie ( [@clownhell2](https://twitter.com/clownhell2) on twitter. ) for being my emotional reader.
> 
> if i miss a tag or whatever, let me know.

The sound of his wife’s fingers typing away at her laptop and her mug being sat down against their faux marble counter tops made for a light background noise to their conversation about vacation. They wanted to go on one last couple’s vacation before they adopted very soon as they were just approved by the state of Georgia to adopt. Stan— a curly haired man with wired reading glasses and warm beige skin, who had more of a subtle pepper and salt situation going on as he ages, but really had these grays since college— listens to the soft soothing voice of his wife and offers back his own opinions on the matter as he puts together his puzzle.

He thinks of the little boy from the file in the kitchen near his wife and thinks of how they were going to be parents very soon. It’s all they ever wanted as a couple. To have a family. They had found Stan was incapable to have kids himself biologically so they decided instead to adopt. It felt like the best choice.

Stan hums softly as he gets down to the last piece and notices he must have misplaced or dropped the piece. He looks around and under the coffee table he was using to find it laying underneath. He moves himself to the ground slowly with a groan— knowing very well he’s too old for getting down on the ground like this— and reaches for it as his phone rings. He grabs the piece and pulls out from under the table, glancing up at his phone screen.

It was a number he didn’t know with an area code from Maine. _Huh_?

The only people he knew with Maine area codes were his aunts and uncles, but he had their numbers saved. Plus he brought a house phone for clients or other business calls at home, he shouldn’t be getting unknown numbers calling him like this. He answers the phone anyways, “Stanley Blum-Uris speaking.”

And just like that, Stan’s life spiraled backwards 27 years with one phone call from Maine.

────────────

Setting down the phone on the coffee table by his puzzle and the last piece, Stan feels his whole body as it shakes in fear. _Fear_. Oh that’s right. He stares ahead as he hears just faintly his wife’s voice over the buzzing in his ears. He stares as his vision seems to blur and it was not from tears. 

He was shaking from the amount of fear overcoming his body. It was chilling and it was pulling at him like gravity. He began to sway lightly like he was in a trance.

The buzzing doesn’t stop and the fog doesn’t clear until he turns to look at his wife. _Oh_.

She seemed to be glowing in the dim kitchen light and she was looking back at him with mild concern. How beautiful she seems in this moment, how beautiful she looks in every moment he has spent with her. She was just the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

Her hair was gorgeous. It was shorter than her parents would approve of and choppier. It was messy in a way that looked put together and professional when needed, but still shows some of Patty’s playful personality. He always loved her hair in whatever way she wore it, but something about her hair still damp from their shared shower together was the best look on her.

He pushes himself up from the floor as he hears the soft noise of Patty getting up from her chair. He stares out the window at their little assortment of bird feeders and _remembers._

And _oh does he remember._

────────────

He was walking in the woods, wearing his boots from his boy scout uniform with some of his hiking clothing his mom brought him from the thrift store. Following behind was Richie— wearing his own hiking clothes from when Maggie would take Richie with her to hike— then Bill and Eddie, who both had to borrow some clothing from Richie or Stan.

He could hear Bill and Eddie complaining to each other softly and quietly, but Richie was quiet. Normally it’d be a bad sign for Richie to be this quiet. But when Stan glances to the side of him to check on him, Richie would just do a thumbs up or finger guns at him. His signs that he was okay.

God, it was something to have Richie quiet back then. Not always a good thing, but it was a respectful thing. He was always quiet when Stan needed silence from him. 

Richie couldn’t learn this for anyone else it seemed. It was a rare perk of being Richie’s best friend since 3 years old, he guessed.

But he was quiet now for Stan to bird watch with him and the other two boys. Bill and Eddie normally didn’t join them, but today was different. 

It was Stan’s 9th birthday and as Richie has been saying for every birthday he spent with Stan, what Stan says goes and they do what he wants. And what he wants to do is bird watch with his friends.

Why, you may be asking? Because Stan was a follower. He followed Richie, followed Bill, but never said what he wanted to do and he was fine with that. He enjoyed it. He didn’t want to lead anyone. He was fine, either following or doing what he wanted alone. But Richie gave Stan one day out of the year to share whatever he enjoyed to do with him.

It was always nice because Richie got his own little book after the second time so he can keep track of what birds he sees with Stan. He always put a little S and a check by the one he saw with him, but any he saw with his mom just by hiking with her just were marked by a check. 

It made their— Stan’s and Richie’s— bond more special. Now that Stan thinks back.

────────────

Soft, yet calloused hands cuff his jaw— over his scars— and pulls him away from his memory of his childhood that he _forgot_. He leans into the warmth of his wife’s hands and looks down at her, not ever noticing a fog clearing over his eyes as he did. 

“What’s wrong, turtle dove? You seem spooked. Who was that on the phone?”

The soft drawl of his wife’s Southern born and raised accent was something else to him. It was soothing in ways he’s never heard before living his childhood in Maine. But now that he remembers, that’s incorrect. He heard the same soothing tones coming from Maggie Tozier, his best friend’s mom and from Ben Hanscom. Maggie was a delicate woman like Patty, but a feisty one as well and Ben was a delicate boy built like a football player.

He remembers Richie’s voice in his head, _“Oh, my ma? Her accent’s weird because she was raised in the south, she says.”_

Now that he thinks back Richie always had a bit of a drawl to his words as well and he had some slang Stan never heard until he moved down here. But there’s another part of Richie that wasn’t true Maine born and that came from Wentworth. You see, the Toziers were the only family to be from out of town beside the Hanscoms. Wentworth had gone to high school there, sure, but he was born from a family in Washington— the state— while Maggie followed Wentworth back up here after his dentistry school was finished.

He remembers Ben’s accent was deeper and more noticeable than Richie’s soft drawl that he got from his mom. You see Ben was from Texas and sounded like the guys from old country movies they’d watch as kids. Richie and Ben bonded over the weird things they’d say that Ben learned back home and Richie learned from his mom.

He stares down at his wife’s concerned face and lets out a deep breath, blowing the scent of his cinnamon toothpaste and mouthwash into her face by accident. 

“It was a friend from Maine. From my childhood.” 

This answer seemed to ease her worry and concerns, but didn’t seem to satisfy her questions.

“I thought you didn’t remember Maine or didn’t have any friends.”

Her accent was more pronounced than his own— her ‘you’ had more of an a sound than an u sound and her ‘any’ made the a in the word silent. It was always a treasure to hear the way she says words so differently from him.

“I didn’t think I remembered anything either, but his voice alone brought back a lot of memories.”

Her eyes lit up as she beams up at him. His wife always loves to learn more about him. She understood the importance of secrets, but they had an open communication rule. If it would hurt their relationship or one of them, it had to be shared soon. 

They sit on the couch together. The fear he felt before seems to fade into a distant memory as they curl up together for him to share his memories with her. He told her about Richie, Bill, Eddie, Mike, Bev and Ben. He told her about what he could remember about them. 

He told her about Richie’s ability to piss anyone off, his crude language and loud mouth, but he also told her about those silent moments shared, a few of the secrets they kept and how Richie was the only person that got him back then, He tells her of Bill’s leadership, his charming looks and stutter; of how quick Eddie could run and how it seem he was always running to something instead of away; of how kind Mike was to a harsh town; of how Bev was the only girl to be kind to him back then; of how Ben was the softest, yet strongest person Stan knew.

She seemed to be pleased by this and threw in her two cents whenever he slowed down to think of something else.

He plays with her hair with one hand and her hand with the other as they lay together, staring down at his incomplete puzzle and just talking. She soon pulls away and kisses his forehead.

“I’m gonna make me a glass of sweet tea. Do you want any?”

Stan grins at the use of ‘gonna’ over ‘going to’. He looks at her and shakes his head, answering her, “No, babylove. I’m fine. I already brushed my teeth.”

She rolls her eyes with a huff and jokes, “Well you can rebrush them!” She walks away with a giggle and out of his sight, back to the kitchen.

With her out of his sight, he goes back to thinking of anything else he hasn’t told her yet when it hits him like a freight train. It was like without her light, he was drowning in the darkness. Everything hits him at once. Everything that happened that summer. All the fear he was feeling at the beginning, the way his friends left him alone in the sewer going after.. Going after… oh _Christ_. It. How could he forget this. He looks down at the nasty scar on his hand. 

His _promise_ to come back. 

_Why_ _did_ _he_ _promise_? 

He didn’t want to go back. He was attacked down there. He feels the sides of his face at the scars he forgot were even there. He was the easiest to kill. It knew this. That’s why it attacked him out of all of them. Bev was just bait. He was the target. Or maybe he wasn’t. He wasn’t that important. He was the most scared out of all of them. 

_What_ _is_ _important_ _about_ _that_?

Nothing. He was just another meal. There’s nothing special about him. Not like the others. He was just there because Richie, Bev, Eddie, and the others, because he was a follower.

He was spiralling. He couldn’t see through what seemed to be a blur or fog over his eyes like he was crying, but he didn’t feel any tears running down his face. He opens his mouth to call out to his wife, but instead his words form into a different sentence. 

“I’m going to take a bath.”

Why was he going to take a bath? He hates baths. Patty knew this. He could hear his wife’s confused filled voice, “Okay, Stan? I’ll come check on you in a little bit.” 

He watches, feeling helpless and hopeless, as his body pushes itself off the couch and walks out of the living room, down the hall. He wasn’t doing this. 

_What_ _was_ _going_ _on_?

He wasn’t moving his body. In fact, he was fighting against the movement of his body. His body goes to his home office and watches in horror as his hand writes what he couldn’t guess. He couldn’t read it through the fog, but a nauseated feeling filled his gut as he was reminded of the last two times he felt something like this. Once in high school, once in college.

────────────

In high school after Bev, Eddie, and Bill left and he found himself as the next one. He was scared and felt alone. He knew he wasn’t. Ben, Richie and Mike spent every hour with him it seemed. With Bill gone, it was almost like Richie was made the leader. He didn’t make them do anything as intense as Bill, but he did drive them around in his car. He got it a week too late to run off with Eddie like they planned before Eddie’s mom moved them off to New York. Stan remembers Richie coming to him in tears. It was a hard week for everyone, but worse for Bill and Richie— the two closest to Eddie.

Stan didn’t want to leave Richie like Eddie was forced to. He remembers the heartache following Eddie’s last letter sent. He knew he wasn’t as important to Richie as Eddie was, but he was Richie’s best friend so he knew his importance to him. Especially with Eddie gone. He knew him leaving may break Richie.

He knew he scared Ben so he imagined that Ben would be fine with him gone.

Mike though— idea of leaving him— was gonna hurt Stan like leaving Richie hurt Eddie. It was going to hurt a lot especially because Mike gets to remember. Mike decided he was going to probably be the only one to stay out of him, Richie and Ben. Richie fought him on it, but it turns out his grandma was passing soon and his family was talking about taking one of her properties in California, New York and Illinois. Ben got accepted into his dream school in Nebraska and Richie and Mike don’t want to take that from him. 

Stan remembers all his negative thoughts nagging at him back then and remembers the feeling of drowning in that negativity. It was a hard time for him as his parents both wanted a bright and promising future for him so they pushed him to work hard and do all that he could do to gain that right. 

He remembers one tonight when the finals were coming up and he was so stressed out he hasn’t took a break from studying for about a week. They were also moving after finals so he was losing everything he knew. He remembers when he would relieve the mental pressure with physical pain. He remembered when he wanted to take it a step farther. 

He remembers the burning pain of each deep cut, remembers almost passing out from the pain as he bleeds. His vision was blurring back then from all the tears. He remembers his stomach dropping as he heard the sound of Richie shouting down to his mom that he knew his way to Stan’s by now.

_“Mom number 2, I think I know the way to my bud Stan’s room by now. It has been what? 15 years now?”_

He remembers the door opening and the sound of Richie dropping whatever he had in his hands. He learns later that the mug was covered in birds and Richie got it for him because it reminded Richie of Stan. It sadly broke in its fall. Richie put it back together with Ben’s help later on, but it couldn’t be of much used for anything besides a holder for pencils or coins after that. 

He remembers Richie calling out for his mom and rushing to him. 

He remembers feeling the burning pain in his wrists and the feeling of the blood puddling in his lap ruining his pants and flooring. To the point they had to replace the flooring and trash his pants.

He remembers Richie pulling off his favorite over shirt— a brightly colored print that looked like a bowling alley flooring— to help stop the bleeding. 

He remembers Richie’s heartbroken, worried expression when he was left with nothing to do, but staring up at Richie while his mom calls for emergency assistants.

He remembers feeling tired and sleepy. His eyes just wanted to close and he remembers Richie’s pleads for him to stay awake. He did fight it for Richie, but it got harder to fight the longer it took the ambulance to get here. 

He passed out on the way to the hospital— what he never knew was that he flat lined. Twice.

When he wakes, he remembers looking to one side and seeing Richie was napping beside him on one of those hospital cot for guests. On the other side, Mike and Ben were putting together one of his smaller puzzles from childhood in the chairs and the table meant for him. And at the foot of his bed, his dad and mom were curled up, also asleep, in a chair together. Must have been visiting hours. 

He must have made a noise—a groan— waking up because Mike and Ben turn to him and jump up at the sight of him awake. Mike woke up both his parents and Richie while Ben rushed to get a nurse. He never did fully forget the reactions of Richie and his parents seeing him awake again. It was burned in the back of his head. The pure joy and happiness filled their worried-sick faces.

That day started with heartbreak and stress ended with an understanding and yet they still moved that winter break in the middle of his junior year.

────────────

In college it went different. He lived with a roommate in a frat house and had just started his actual program after finishing up his general studies. He was 20 and living it up. He didn’t party nor did his roommate. The two preferred to drink in and the oldest would buy them alcohol and things like that. He did enjoy small social events surprisingly and often went to club events he was a part of.

This is where he made temporary friends with people with similar interests, but no one caught his eye. What he didn’t know was that he didn’t enjoy spending time with similar people, but he enjoyed spending time with very different people because they pushed him to do things he was afraid to do or never would have thought of. He was already dating Patty— his polar opposite. His relationship with her started when he was 18 and she was 19. They already had talks of marriage soon and moving in together now at 20 and 21.

But without the memories of what happened fully in Derry, his relationship with his parents— it was better than most, but still rocky— went back to the way it was before that night of junior year when Richie found him bleeding out. Back to pushing him to do better. He was doing better. He had a 4.0 GPA in college and was a part of an honors fraternity for members of the Jewish community. He was bright and had his future ahead of him.

But yet again, the stress and pressure of his parents were getting to him and the petty arguments he would have with his roommate didn’t help his mental health either. He didn’t know what to do.

He felt alone again. He knew he wasn’t alone. He knew this. He had a beautiful girlfriend. His roommate normally was chill. He also had friends in his fraternity. He didn’t know why he felt alone, but it was almost like a voice was in his head, telling him he’ll always be alone.

Sometimes he listened to the voice. It sounded _familiar_ to him. Maybe the familiarity is good.

During this time, he was on a mix of medicine for his OCD, depressive disorder, and other mental health issues he had. He was very good at taking his medicine on time and had a tracker to remind him. Even his therapist would call him to check on him and make sure he had remembered to take them. He had a good system going for him. 

Things were going well. Until the _voice_ came back. 

The voice didn’t come out during his time with Patty nor when his roommate was home, but came out while he was alone. It always came back when he was alone. This voice was a little whisper in the back of his head filling him with thoughts— that he didn’t know at the time were very toxic and backhanded.

One night he had showered in the shared bathroom he had with his roommate and the two next door. Luckily for him, these were the cleanest three of the bunch so they made sure to keep the order in the bathroom the way Stan liked it for his OCD. Everyone back then in the frat was very understanding of Stan actually and he was in a good environment mentally and physically. 

Emotionally was a different story because of the stress he was in about his grades.

That night after his shower, he grabs a bottle of water from a mini fridge he shared with his roommate. He grabs out his medicine pouch filled with all his pills he took both in the morning and nightly and some cold medicine he might have left over from the cold season. He lays out his nightly medicine on a tissue and sits back, thinking to him— or he thought they were his thoughts.

He looked at all the medicine he had to take to seem “sane” to the rest of society or function like them. 

There were about only four pills, but that’s four more than all of his frat brothers take. They all were fine or seem fine to the public eye. They were all very charming and happy guys. 

Why couldn’t Stan be like that? Why does Stan have to be the broken one? Back then Stan didn’t know what happened to cause this. He knew his family— on his mom’s side— had a history of mental health, but nothing this bad. His OCD wasn’t genetic nor the PTSD his therapist says he shows signs of. He didn’t ask his parents about Derry and they never seemed willing to talk about it. It was just a shush-shush topic.

So Stan didn’t know nor understood why he was so scared or why he flinched so easily when he was alone because when he was with people he felt untouchable. Looking back, it was because he was untouchable around other people. When he was alone, he was left to old forgotten thoughts while when he’s with people, he isn’t thinking of those things. He was thinking of the people and then and now. Not his past.

But he stares at his medicine and looks at the bottles. 

What happened next was something he didn’t expect himself to do.

He grabs the bottle he doesn’t remember which one it was at the time even now he doesn’t remember, but he knocks back the bottle, taking a large sitting of whatever was in that bottle. He doesn’t remember what happened next after he took all those pills besides that he passed out in his chair. 

He woke the next day nauseated and sick, throwing up almost immediately. He calls his therapist and then Patty, who took him to the doctor to be checked to see if there are any left in his system. Luckily there was none left and he was just allowed to be left in the care of his therapist, who called an emergency check on his mental health.

His therapist was shocked when he was deemed not suicidal by a written questionnaire. He took another version verbally. He passed that one too. He was deemed not suicidal by a therapist and the event was written off as an accident. 

An _accidental_ overdose.

────────────

The sound of water and the sudden chill running over him is what brought him back to reality, to his present.

He has enough control over himself— or whatever controlling his body was willing to let him— to turn and look into the mirror. There he stood naked as the day he was born. His past scars were littering his arms and thighs, but he was just now actually noticing his facial scars circling his face on each side. Behind him was the Clown, towering over him. Stan jumps and turns around, not seeing the clown there. His vision blurs and he turns back to watch as his right eye turns golden and stings. It burns like he just rubbed Germ-X into it. He feels his body move again against his will. 

His body starts to move into the tub. This tub was the tub his wife picked out when they fixed up the house. This tub had so many good memories in it. So many. It had them curled up to bathe together in it. It had them having sex back when they were younger. It had them having self care days, either together or separate. 

If what he thought was going to happen, he was going to ruin all that.

Stan was going to ruin it all in one night within one minute. He feels as his body is descending into the water and relaxes in the water. He had to watch as his own arm reached for a blade already laid out. He tries to scream or cry as his voice was just used to mock him instead. 

“I _promise_ , Bill.”

This was _fucking_ _sick_. He was going to be sick. Stan wants to cry out to let his wife know what was going on in their favorite bathroom. This wasn’t supposed to be how it goes. He’s supposed to become a dad. He’s supposed to finally be _happy_. He was supposed to have moved on from this. 

He was emotionless to the pain coming from his wrist. The feeling of his wrist burning and blood flooding from the wounds falling to the tile flooring or into the water he laid in. He felt it before. He was numb to that now. This was it. His last night on Earth was going to be because of that _Damn_ Clown.

What wasn’t expected was for his wife to drop the mug she was bringing him.

Or for her to be pulling off the button up pajama shirt she was wearing over her top.

And for her to fall right next to him into his blood and apply pressure onto his cuts with the shirt.

He was left to stare at his wife as she held his wrist. _Just_ _Like_ _Richie_.

Now that he thinks about it there’s a lot of similarities to his wife and the best friend he forgot. Both were filled with so much _love_ , almost too much and only knew how to share it by hidden actions while hiding behind their biting, meaningless words. 

It was almost humorous for Stan to think about him falling in love with a woman similar to Richie, but he remembers how much Richie shaped him and how much he followed Richie as a kid, then it wasn’t that hilarious. It was obvious something like this would happen. Stan couldn’t say he ever loved Richie that way. He didn’t think so. They were each other’s first kisses and first times just before he left, but nothing else. They just didn’t want to lose those things meaninglessly to another, not as important as them. 

Richie was important to him and he _knew_ he was important to Richie.

His wife wraps her shirt tightly around his arms multiple times to cut off the blood flow and keep the wounds covered before running off with bloody hands to get her phone to call emergency operators he was guessing. 

_Nope_. 

Patty came back in with her medic kit from her time when she was a field paramedic and started making work of washing off blood. He watches in awe as she just starts doing sutures to his cuts and then unties the bloody shirt from his wrist being used to cut off his blood flow. She drops it into the puddle of his blood on the ground and then wraps up his wrists in gauze. She gets up and washes her hands before splashing her face with water.

He lays there in the bath in a form of awe and shock as his wife basically saw him bleeding to death and said “ _Nope_ , _not_ _today_.” He didn’t think he knew a woman stronger than she. Maybe the Bev he knew, maybe.

She turns to stare at the wall with a clenched jaw. He didn’t know if this was because of the heartbreak he could have put her through just then or something else. It was _probably_ the heartbreak though.

She turns that stare to him and it reminds him of the one time he upset Maggie Tozier as a kid. He felt a chill run through him. 

“I don’t think this is what they meant by ‘until death do us part’, Stan,” Her accent was very noticeable now with how emotional and shaky she sounded. She sounds like she was seconds away from a break down, but holding it together because the old “crying did no good in situations like this” excuse he knew she was raised in. 

He whispers, broken, “I know…”

And this is when she _snapped_.

“YOU KNOW?! Nah, shit, you know. God bless your fucking soul,” Her normally soothing and delightful drawl deepens with her anger and sounds harsh against his ears. She threw up her hands into the air in disbelief before turning away from him sharply to bend over and grab a towel from under the sink. 

He waits until she turns back, “Can I explain, please?” His voice fades to a whisper by the end of his question. He watches as her lips pinch together and her eyes cut away from him to look to the side to where he left his clothing— folded, of course— and left his watch she got him when he retired from accounting and moved onto bird research like he always wanted.

She turns back to him and gives him a nod before finally answering him, “Yeah.. yeah you can. Let’s get you out of this tub first.”

He nods hesitantly back to her and lets her pull him out of the tub gently, as to not pull any of his sutures. He has to look up at her slightly as she paps him dry before wrapping a towel around him. They step over the broken mug and walk into the bedroom, where he lets her grab him some new clothing and help him dress so again he doesn't pull his sutures. 

Her body was still shaking from the anger and disbelief of her outburst back in the bathroom. He put a hand on her arm as she was unfolding his clothing for him to put them on. She looks at him, patiently yet shaking. He pulls her close and lets her break down into his shoulder. He held her close against his body as she sobs into his neck, clinging to him tightly not caring that he was naked.

They started this way until he began to shake from the cold air. She pulls back and notices he is still nude.

“Oh!” She immediately starts helping him into his clothes she picked out for him. 

Once dressed he sits down on their bed and she joins him. There was a gap there that hasn’t been there since their relationship started because they soon closed it. It coming back made his throat tighten and dry out. His tongue felt like lead as he looked at her. Besides her bloodshot eyes and and tears stains on her face, she looks like a statue, emotionless and cold as she stares back at him. It was heartbreaking to think he hurt her this much for her to close off to him again. 

All those walls he smashed within a month were back within seconds and he couldn’t even bring up his own walls himself because this was his wife, his person, his babylove. He couldn’t close himself off from her even if she closed herself off from him.

His hand twitches to grab hers but instead he grips his pajama pants so he doesn’t reach for her. 

He was left to face the jaded old version of Patty Blum he hasn’t had the privilege of meeting since 1994. It’s been 22 years since he’s faced this version of his wife. This was his wife when she was left all alone when she thrives off relationships and friendships. This was his wife when she had no support system to hold her up when she broke down so she didn’t break down. Oh how he missed this version of her and her feisty temper and quick trash talk that rivaled Richie’s, but oh how he wished he didn’t see her up close like this with him.

“So you gonna explain or we gonna just sit there?

He takes a deep breath and looks at his wife, still watching his every move like a hawk. She was probably still trying to understand. She knew his history in college. She was the one to take him to his therapist’s appointment and everything afterwards. But she personally knew he was better. They had no serious, life-changing secrets, not that they could keep anything from each other anyways. It wasn’t like he ever made jokes about it even. He helps troubled youth with a community wide, reformed boy scouts he created after the boy scouts either closed down in the area or was deemed untrustworthy by the community.

The point was he was doing better. They both knew this. He has been for the past 20 years and didn’t show signs of a relapsing.

He knew logically some people didn’t show signs of relapsing every time, but most of the time, people do. He knew for a fact that he didn’t relapse and now that he’s thinking about. Maybe he had nothing to relapse from. Maybe it never was _him_ in the first damn place. 

He puts his head in his hands before propping himself up on his elbow, “What if I told you I never tried to actually killed myself?”

He could see she was taken back from the counter of his eye and darts her eyes down to his cuts.

“So whatcha tryin’ to say, Stan? Don’t fuckin’ pause of special ‘fects now!” _She’s still mad._

He sighs and nods, continuing on, “So before college, there was another ‘attempt’ if you could call it that.” He watches as she jumps up and starts pacing to calm herself. She did this often. Richie did the same thing when he was stressed out by something. He learned it from Eddie over the years. _Pacers_ , _the_ _three_ _of_ _them_. 

He pushes on, “Richie, the best friend I told you about, had found me. The scene went very similar to how you found me. He was bringing me a new mug, he broke it in shock, he rushed to me, took off his over shirt, and put it against the wounds. I was in too much shock that I went through with the act that I didn’t notice the world seem to blur while I actually did it, or well I blanked out in a sense. Like I wasn’t in control over myself.” 

She turns to him and stares. Probably processing the information he was dropping on her like bombs.

“In college, I was thinking of how different I was from the other boys and then the next thing I knew I was knocking back the whole bottle of my medicine, instead of taking what was laid out in front of me. I was glad to wake up that morning, but worried that there were still drugs in my system.” She nodded like she was coming to the understanding and realization of what he was saying.

After a few seconds of thinking of what to say next, he thinks of the Losers as he says the next part, “I was always the weakest.” 

He could just imagine the reactions of the Losers matching the one on Patty’s face right now. Like they would be disgusted by the idea. He could hear their voices in his head like they never left.

He could hear the oddity that was the voice of post-puberty Richie or the high-pitched voice of Eddie before puberty, saying similar aggressively kind statements of “ _Fuck off, man! You’re not weak!”_

He could also hear it followed up by the soothing voice of soft and delicate Ben and the deep, gorgeous sound of the always strong Mike, telling him, “ _You’re just scared, Stanley. But you still faced It. You’re a brave guy_.” 

_Always_ best for last, he remembers an exact moment after the events that summer when Bill and Bev took his hands— made for bird watching and puzzles— in their calloused hands— made for fighting monsters— to both calm him and ground him in reality. He could still feel Bev lean into him to provide him comfort while Bill just tells him in _this_ _tone_ , that you just took as a fact because he sounded so sure of himself, “ _No, Stan, you’re brave. You’ve always been.”_

He always felt weaker without them by his side. 

Why? Because if you believe it, it’s got to be true.

────────────

After he explains his side of things, they move into the kitchen to have a glass of wine for Patty and a bottle of gatorade for Stan. She was watching him from her spot away from him as he sits at the island in the kitchen. He sips his drink carefully before starting, “What?”

“You’re not sharing something.” 

She turns away from him to look down at her wine glass. She didn’t push, but something about the statement made the shambles of his inner walls into dirt under her feet as she walked past the debris like it was nothing. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if he should tell her and risk her coming with or if he should try to lie and make her more upset.

He didn’t know what he’d do if she was upset so he decided against lying to her and opened up about that summer with the Losers and it was like the flood gates open. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. It was like something took over him and forced him to share all that trauma with her.

Stan didn’t even watch her reaction, just stares down at his hands wrapped around his drink as he tells her about how little 8 year old George Denbrough went missing and how Bill lost all sense of himself in attempts to find his brother or his brother’s body. He tells her about how four friends become seven and how they went looking so Bill would have the closure. And he told her about what they found in the sewers while poking their noses where they didn’t belong. He tells her about the horrors and what happened to him as he brushes a hand over a few of the scars on his cheek. Those were the deepest ones and the most noticeable. 

He tells her everything and when he finished there was a hushed silence filling the house. You could hear a pin drop as they sat there. Waiting for her to process what she just heard, waiting for a reaction. And _oh_ _boy_ did it come.

“Y’all were kids and you’re gonna tell me y’all just,” She waves her hands around, all willy-nilly, “followed ‘round ‘nother fuckin’ kid goin’ through the trauma of losin’ a siblin’ and the adults didn’t say shit?!” She sits back and knocks back the rest of her wine, using her other hand to pull the whole bottle over to her.

He nods and watches as she fills her glass over the normal amount and pushes away the bottle to drink it. 

“So this fuckin’ clown?” He flinches and she softens before repeating herself, “So this bastard, you think whatever it is, is using some force on you to try to kill you.. Why you over the others, you think?”

“Probably because I’m an easy target.”

She let out an amused snort and gives him a smirk, “Ain’t anythin’ easy about you, m’love.”

He rolls his eyes half hearted and lets out a huff of laughter, if you could call it a laugh with how emotionless it was, “When I’m alone, I’m at my weakest point. Unlike the others, I don’t do well alone. I’m always a follower, never a leader. I can be alone, but I hate it and feel like I’m weakest then.”

Her humor fades and she looks at him seriously. Her speech was now a mix of her daily drawl and the slurred speech of drinking, “Stanley Uris-Blum. You are never weak ‘cause even when you’re alone, I’m there with you. Everyone needs themself a person. Are you callin’ me weak? I need a person to make me feel safe and I bet your pals need themself someone too. Ain’t nobody fuckin’ superman.”

He stares at her without letting any emotion show on his face as he took in what she just told him. He took a breath and nodded before telling her, “Mike wants me to go back to fulfill the oath we made as kids.” 

“Then go.”

He looks at her confused, “Just like that? You’ll let me fuck off to Derry, Maine by myself?”

She makes herself her third glass of wine as she tells him, “Hey I didn’t say anythin’ about goin’ alone.” She took a sip of her wine before asking, “Plus you’ll have your little, but now big pals with you, yeah?”

Stan just nods and takes a sip of his gatorade. His wife was right. He wouldn’t be alone. He’d have all the Losers to back him up. He will be safe. They were adults now. Nothing was going to happen to him that the clown hasn’t already thrown at him. He could do this. He could- 

“Great then. Let’s go!,” Patty hops up like she’s going off to war or about to get her legs cut off so she didn’t have to go to war in the first damn place. This woman was wild. Especially if she thinks she can just march into the Child Murder Captial of the USA without much thought. Unless she gave it a lot of thought and just didn’t share it with him.

“Wait, hold up!,” Stan stands up and looks at her like she lost her damn mind because he really thinks she has at this point. “You mean after everything I just told you, you’re just going to jump on a plane and go with me to the mouth of a hellhole?”

“Yeah, dumbass.” She rolls her eyes at her husband like he’s the one that lost his mind, “You’re my husband. I’m not just gonna let you go be an idiot alone with your newly remembered pals. I ain’t a military wife, my Hummingbird.”

“ _Oh_.” 

_Oh_ was right _._ Oh _,_ how he adored how strong and brave she was without flinching. 

She was the bravest thing in his life. 

And oh, how she made him brave too.

────────────

Before Stan knew it, they were on their way to Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport with some quickly packed carry-on bags and nothing else. They made sure to take the things Stan may need for work. Even though he already called his coworkers and let them know he’d be gone for a bit in a case of “family emergency”. They were very lucky to have connections with one of the Atlanta Airport Private Jet pilots via being an old and recurring client of Stan’s. He was more than willing to take them to Derry, Maine and even wait for them to go back while he was in between clients himself. He was going to bring his son along to co-pilot and Stan was more than fine with it seeing as this man was helping him a bunch.

Anything to get them to Derry by tomorrow without waiting for tomorrow because he doesn’t think he could stay in that house any longer with the likelihood of the force or _what the fuck ever_ of the Clown coming for him again.

Stan just thanks his lucky stars he keeps accounting on the side of opening up his own bird research and rescue center just outside of Atlanta. It brings in a lot of money to file other people’s taxes for them and keep records over their financial records. It also brought in a lot of useful connections like the one he had with the pilot. 

They pulled in and got to park with the other pilots off the kindness of the older man that was going to be their pilot tonight. He was a nice guy, always sweet to Patty when she picked up the phone instead of Stan while at home and was always respectful. 

Stan enjoyed working with the man because this was the type of man to give the shirt off his back for you and Stan wanted to help him in any way he could by doing his financial work for him. 

They get out of the car and meet up with him and his son, who was going to co-pilot. He was a nice older man in his 60s and his son was about Stan’s and Patty’s age. Both were still very respectful and kind as they talked with Patty on the way to the plane. 

Stan had originally just reached out just to get tickets last minute or something, not a private jet, but to each their own, he guessed.

They get on the jet and Stan sits down with Patty across from him. He pulls out his phone and looks at his lockscreen. It was a picture of Patty in her very blouse under some overalls rolled up. One hand was up to hold her hat from taking off in the wind that day and the other held both her sandals and their future son’s hand. He was a beautiful little thing.

He screams a look of innocence with his rosy cheeks and toothy grin he was giving the camera. He looked so happy to be spending the day with them. And he probably was because they took him to the beach that trip. He adored spending time at the beach and with them so it just filled him with a lot of happiness to take them with him to the ocean side. 

He got to play in the sand with his biological mom, who was housing him until there was a family willing to take her biological kid on. She made the choice herself she had once told Stan. She couldn’t give him the home he deserved and something in her told her that Stan and Patty were that home.

Stan lets out a deep exhale for his nose and turns the phone to his wife on the table between them. She looks down at it over her kindle she was reading off of. She studies it for a second before looking up at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, very cute picture of me and G.”

“No,” His voice was hoarse and rough to listen to.

She sits up slightly and looks at him concerned, “What, Stan?” 

“George looks _just_ like Georgie did.”

She leans back like he just slapped her and stares down at the phone with watering eyes and pinched lips, “So what are you tryin’ to say? That he’s a part of the clown’s game?” Her voice broke by the end of her questions. It was almost too painful to hear. George was their baby already. She adored him like he was her own because he was her own now. That was their _son_.

“No, no, of course not, I’m not saying our son is some kind of trick. Clown just woke up and we knew George since he was 6.” This causes her to relax in her seat as he continues, “But it means there may be something else out there like the clown. Something good. Something that gave Georgie back to us.” He didn’t say it, but he knew she heard ‘us’ as the Losers.

She nods slowly and seems to be taking in what he was saying. Something like the clown. Just because it’s not like It doesn’t mean it’s actually helpful in any way. Maybe bringing back a boy that looked like Georgie was the only way it’s gonna help. By easing the heartbreak, by easing the trauma, if it even could. 

There was something twisted and sick about giving Stan the kid that looked like Georgie over Bill, but Stan could only imagine how Bill grew up after Derry. He was always a bit unstable. Maybe it was smart to give the kid to the old soul of the bunch. Who knows yet. 

He just hoped Bill doesn’t lose his shit when he has to tell him.

────────────

Getting off the jet was much easier than getting on after they slept.

He was very willing to get the pilot and his son a room nearby the airport and even gave them a long list of things to do in Maine while they waited for them. The pilot and his son waved off Stan’s attempts to give them cash to spend on themselves while in Bangor. 

Once they made sure the pilot and his son were good, they also grabbed their things and made their way out of the airport to meet up with Mike, who was picking them up since they’d be earlier than the others. Apparently Eddie was driving in and everyone else had to fly in later in the day. 

The sun was just coming over the horizon when they touched down so the day wasn’t yet bright, but a calming light spilling over.

It was peaceful and soothing. He follows after his wife, who stops abruptly in his way. He looks around her shoulder to see Mike leaning against the old beat up car Richie, Ben and Mike put together in high school. It was Mike’s mom’s old car that was left to rot when she got herself a truck. He nudges Patty toward Mike softly, which causes her to let out a soft _oh_ as she realized this must be the friend.

Stan’s stomach does a flip when Mike smiles at them with that perfect smile. He was still as gorgeous as the day Stan left this place all those years ago. He was big, both in height and muscle mass, and wearing a snug henley shirt under a baggy jean jacket to protect him from the morning wind. He still looked kind, even after all these years, behind tired eyes. 

He held his arms out and Stan jumped at the chance for a hug from Mike. There’s something about a hug from someone taller than you that’s therapeutic. Maybe it’s the safety you may find there or the extra warmth of their body. 

Stan wouldn’t know fully because he wasn’t a hugger normally, but Mike was and Mike has gone 27 years, remembering him and the others, all by himself. This was the least Stan could do for him.

Mike’s warm hands cradle the sides of Stan’s face over his scars and pull his head close for a kiss on the forehead, whispering against his head, “I’m so glad you made it, Stan” 

His voice was just as Stan imagined it to be and oh, how Stan missed it.

Stan fights by tears, not wanting to cry in the public as he clings to Mike, letting them have this single moment even if it’s the last one. He pulls back from Mike, grabbing one of Mike’s hands between both of his to keep contact with him as he turns to his wife.

“Mike, this is my wife, Patty.”

Their smiles were gorgeous— breathtaking even— alone, but it’s something about seeing them smiling at each other like old friends being reunited. It made the bird sing and the sun seem brighter. It was that sappy Disney shit he would make fun of and go back to with his wife. He was unworthy of seeing such beauty, but he was hand picked by God to witness it first hand. And they— the beauties in question— wanted him here. He knew by the gentle yet firm grip of Mike’s hand and the way Patty’s hand fits onto his lower back.

“It’s lovely to get to meet you,” Mike broke the delicately created and comfortable silence with his voice.

Patty beams like the moon, subtle but just as bright, “Pleasure is all mine, I guarantee you.”

Mike smiles at her and glances to Stan, who was staring back at him with a soft look of awe like he was amazed Mike was in front of him and he was— amazed that is. Mike squeezed Stan’s hand in his and nodded behind him at his car, “Let’s get y’all out of Bangor into Derry, why don’t we.”

Stan looks at the car and back at Mike with a side eye, “Not to be Eddie, but does that thing even run?” He grins behind the knuckles of his head gently lift up to cover his mouth when Patty playfully swats at his shoulder. Their mannerisms were like those of a rehearsal when an actor breaks character, that charming little laughter shared between actors at the humor of it.

Mike watches on with this smile that looks so warm and bright like the sun and it lit Stan aflame inside, “Yes Stan, she runs just fine. Don’t you remember?” 

Stan looks away from Mike’s smile before he drops to his knees and begs to worship Mike like the Adonis he was— he has a history of being weak in the knees at the face of beauty like this. For example, _Patty_. His eyes move to his wife, who looked everything like Aphrodite wishes, before looking back to Mike and says, “What I remember is you, Richie and Ben pushing ‘her’ at least once a week because our original ride was being used by Maggie.” 

There’s something gorgeous in the playful and teasing look on Patty’s face just then as she turns to Stan with some mockery of shock and offensive, “You didn’t help, Stan?” 

“Are you joking? You saw me in college. I could barely carry my books back then. I was a beanpole,” Stan looks at her with a similar expression, mimicking her, even though his expressions were always going to be more muted and not as expressive as her. She knew what to look for and it seemed so did Mike even after all these years because this caused him to laugh so freely and.

_Oh_. How he missed hearing Mike’s laugh. It was so free and childlike. It sounded like church bells on Sunday morning. It was glorious. 

Both Patty and him share a look of glee and awe before they look to the source of such a gorgeous sound. They never made anyone laugh like _that._ They always made people chuckle or laugh awkwardly, but never laugh like they were the funniest thing they’d ever heard. God, it was beautiful to hear. 

Mike wipes away a tear from his laughter and shakes his head, saying with a chuckle, “You said it, not me.” 

Stan half-heartedly and playfully rolls his eyes at Mike before Patty helps him into the car. He got in and put their backpacks on each side of him as she went to help Mike. Mike must have ushered her away because she got in the car and Mike seems to still be in the back. 

She turns to him with a grin that just said trouble and studies his facial expression before saying, “So Mike, huh?”

Such a simple jab, if he could call it that, to turn his face bloodshot red and make his eyes widened. This reaction must be what Patty was seeking because she immediately let out that loud yet adorable laughter of hers-- that sounds similar to a laughing kookaburra-- and he adores to hear it. There’s something precious and rare about making her laugh so freely like that.

Mike gets in the car and looks at Patty with a look of awe and bewilderment, “Did I miss something?”

Stan watches as Patty calms herself to a giggle and puts a hand on Mike’s forearm. She gave him the same charming smile she gave Stan when they met and just told him, “Oh no, it’s nothing.”

Mike stares at her like Ben used to stare at Bev— like he was seconds from falling in love with her every second— and whispers very softly _okay._ Then he gave her a smile back before starting the car.

Stan leans back in his seat and looks out the window as they left the airport. It’s been a while since he’s been in Maine. He hasn’t been here since his high school years obviously and somehow it felt like it’s been forever since he’s seen these mix of pines and birch trees. He could remember how Richie drove them around or Mike would attempt on other days. It was all very special to them. Those drives. They really bonded the four of them together. There was something therapeutic and soul bonding to drive down backroads and scream out the lyrics to whatever mixtape Richie made for them together.

While lost in memories and thinking back, Mike had driven them through the backroads of Bangor into the backroads of Derry. They were on the road to the farm before Stan realized. He noticed two bodies sitting on the old bench swing on the porch. 

Once they got closer he realized it was two boys curled in. One seemed to be reading a book to the other one. One of the boys looks to be an amputee and sleepy like he was on some pain killers and still out of it. There was a wheelchair near them folded up to the side. They look to be a couple, but Stan could also see how they just had a relationship like he had with Richie— not romantic, but full of so much love that they were very that affectionate to each other.

“That’s Adrian and Don. They’re staying with me for a bit.”

Stan’s heart breaks as he watches as one of the two boys realizes there were more people in the car with Mike and pulled away from his bench partner. The one that had noticed them stands up and starts opening up the wheelchair to roll away his partner inside. The sleepy one looks up confused at the other while the taller one seems to be whispering to him about there being two strangers in the car with Mike. They all watched sadly as the two boys made their way inside as quickly as they could. Patty looks confused and sad as she turns to look at Mike.

He only sighs and unbuckles his belt, glancing at Patty before looking back at the doorway, “Derry hasn’t been kind to them.”

The three of them climb out of the car. Stan puts his hand on the top of the car door and looks around, “It hasn’t changed one bit.”

Mike let out a dry huff of laughter, “Yeah, Derry hasn’t really changed since you were last here.”

They close the door to the car. Mike leans against his car with his arms on the roof of his car and looks at the two of them. A memory of him doing the same thing as he picked up Stan and the others from the high school with his car the first time flashes before Stan’s eye and causes him to grin.

Mike brought one hand to rub his neck before he started talking, almost shy, “Look I don’t have the room to house all the Losers, especially with me housing Don & his boyfriend, but I do have enough for you two if you want it. If not, I can take you two up to the townhouse.”

Patty and Stan share a look at each other, both immediately worried about the young boys that rushed inside just at the sight of them. Patty gave Stan a grim and apologetic look while Stan knew his face was a sad understanding. He nods softly before they turn back to Mike to answer him.

“The two boys don’t seem to trust us and I’m sure Stan agrees, but I’d hate to make them uncomfortable in a place meant to keep them safe,” Patty said it in a tone that was both apologetic, but firm. Something Stan only heard from her, Maggie Tozier and Jessica Hanlon. That tone some moms give that implies they know it’s gonna upset or disappoint the person, but they were firm on their decision.

Stan decides to step in and give his two cents because he didn’t want Mike to think they didn’t want to, just that they didn’t want to make the kids uncomfortable or not safe in the place they were staying.

“Yeah, I’m with Patty. We’d love to stay here, but would hate to make them uncomfortable.”

Mike looks at the house, probably thinking about the boys and nodding, “Yeah, that’s probably smart.” 

He seemed to understand where they were coming from and seemed lost in thought before turning back to them with a grin that made Stan picture a lightbulb over his head lighting up. He slaps the top of the car lightly and points their way.

“Well, what if I had another place for you two to stay?,” He gestures his hand to the way of town. He quickly adds on, “Only if you want. You don’t have to!”

Stan looks to Patty and they do their little silence communication thing again. Patty shrugs softly and Stan thinks about it himself. It’d be nice to stay with Mike. It really would. He looks to Mike and nods, which causes Mike to lit up and grin. 

“Okay, okay! Yeah, let’s get heading that way then!” 

Patty looks around, “Can’t we get a tour of the land first?”

The look on Mike’s face was a face of shock and amazement. Stan could probably guess why. No one really cared for Hanlon's land. Besides the Losers of course, they cared just as much as Mike. This was where the last four hung out after they got too “old” to hang out in the Barrens. 

“Oh I didn’t think you’d wanna see it.. But yeah! We can do a tour if you want it!”

Stan smiles as Patty bounces after Mike for a tour. Maybe they’ll survive this and maybe they’ll be happy. Or as happy as one can be when there’s a likelihood that Richie Tozier probably has access to emojis and facetime. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can yell at me here if you have a twitter: [@og_cryptid](https://twitter.com/og_cryptid)


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